


<3 u

by tisapear



Series: bane of his existence [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Borderline crack, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, One terrible horrible no good very bad t-shirt, Post-Time Skip, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/pseuds/tisapear
Summary: Because Atsumu's a nice twin and loves Osamu and would die for him, he got him a little something.Osamu would rather he died.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Series: bane of his existence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045332
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	<3 u

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amph (Anon)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amph+%28Anon%29).



> On my last story my favorite commentor Amph went "Atsumu getting Osamu a I ❤ MIYA ATSUMU t-shirt. Samu says he will use it to clean the floor. He sleeps wearing it when Atsumu is away" and boy if that didn't awaken _something_ in me.
> 
> Predictably this fic is dedicated to them <3

"No."

Pristine white, blocky black letters, and—

_Ugh._

The gaudy, giant red heart that takes up almost all of the front.

It's a personal affront to Osamu's very existence and he can't believe Atsumu would actually dare bring this piece of—of _undeniable proof for his steadily declining faith in humanity as a whole_ into the walls of their _save haven—_

"'N they call _me_ the dramatic one."

Not breaking eye contact with the unreasonably crooked _A_ , Osamu says, "Ya stubbed yer little toe on the kitchen table an' didn't stop cryin' for twenty minutes straight, 'n even then ya only stopped 'cause I blew ya right there on the kitchen floor."

Well, what can he say, Atsumu's a pretty crier. With no actual personality and generally bad qualities, he's at least got that going for him. 

Also, their cat Natto _would not_ stop pawing at his sleeping form until he finally heaved himself up at 3:23 am to console his _horribly wronged_ twin, 'cause Atsumu's Natto's favorite and their cat's clearly a biased asshole. (It's why they get along so well, birds of one awful feather.)

"Where did ya even get this shit? Wasn't it a limited amount thing? There were only like, a hundred manufactured or somethin'." 

Secretly Osamu hopes that was 'cause the item was a total flop, but he knows teenage girls better than that. 

There's a reason why tons of girls flock into his restaurant around after-school hours, and it's partly because they like to giggle and point at Osamu and 'whisper', "See? Totally looks like Atsumu-kun," and then swoon like Osamu is deaf, blind, and not completely disgusted by their infatuation—there's definitely better people to crush on than his twin, do kids these days have no taste? Mostly though because one time after an away game Atsumu just completely lost sense of time and reality—not that _that's_ anything new, but usually he hides it better—and, after finding himself alone in their big warm bad on what he thought was Osamu's off day, walked straight down into the restaurant in search for his missing bed warmer. 

Shirtless. 

Needless to say that there was a very conveniently placed group of self-proclaimed 'Atsumu enthusiasts' that immediately proceeded to lose their last functioning braincells. (In all fairness, if you adore Atsumu that much, you probably don't have any to begin with, and no, he doesn't want to know what that says about him.) 

Atsumu stares at him. Blinks almost owlishly. 

That's Osamu's first clue that he fucked up 

Then Atsumu coyly lowers his lashes, kneads the fabric of the tee between his fingers, lets out a soft, _"Oh."_

That's the second one. 

And when Atsumu looks back up there is a dangerous and doom-spelling grin twisting his face into an ugly grimace that Osamu really shouldn't think is as attractive as he does. 

That's when it finally clicks. 

He instinctively steps back and almost trips over their cat.

 _Told ya_ Atsumu's his favorite.

 _"So,"_ Atsumu begins, pointedly, cocky, one hand on his hip. "Ya knew how many pieces of the, hm what did ya call it? _Undeniable proof for my steadily declining faith in humanity as a whole_ they printed? Didn't know ya cared, _Nii-chan._ " 

Osamu bites his lip. Curses Atsumu to Andromeda and back 'cause the fucker _knows_ what the arrogant face combined with the name does to Osamu. 

Atsumu's cheap and dirty and so are his tricks.

(Can't believe he willingly chose to sleep with _that._ Congrats, Osamu, you have shit taste.) 

"There was," Osamu starts, bites his tongue, racks his brain, then mentally sighs in pure relief because, "There was an ad on a magazine cover some girls left when the thing was first advertised for pre-orders." And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the complete and honest truth. 

If Osamu's omitting the part where he purposefully flipped the mag open after seeing the preview on the cover, than that's no one's business but his own.

"Oh? 'N they said the exact amount on the cover? Spooky, I faintly seem to recall they only mentioned that on the actual page." 

...He doesn't know what he expected from his narcissistic twin. Maybe not to ruin his life for once? That's probably too much to ask for, though. 

"Fuck you," Osamu says, very eloquently, because it sums up the collective spectrum of his feelings toward his twin. 

Atsumu pushes the t-shirt against his chest and smirks meaningfully. 

"Later, Samu-nii."

* * *

It's fucking—

No. Osamu _isn't._ He's _not_. He's not some desperate housewife missing her husband after only being apart for _twenty seven goddamn hours_ (and thirty minutes, and—ah, let him check his phone real quick—twelve, _no_ , thirteen seconds).

But he is banging his own twin and sadly, through some funny twist of fate (the bitch's had it out for him before he was even born, considering Atsumu's the older one) he is kind of, maybe a little, verily, whipped for his twin. 

He sits up with a sigh and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call the sound a sign of complete and utter surrender.

Stalks into the bathroom and makes sure to stomp his feet extra hard (Natto, from his place on Atsumu's pillow, gives him a lazy, I'm-judging-your-whole-bloodline look), rips open the door of the cabinet under the sink and reaches for the box proclaiming 'Super wash for even the _dirtiest_ white', smirk on the cartoon lady's face like she's advertising Netflix's first original porno and not detergent. 

He twists off the lid and stares at the wrinkled cotton inside like his pathetic little feelings are all its fault. Atsumu's not here and Natto's even more of a bitch after 1 am than usual, so inanimate objects are really the only thing he can angrily stare at right now. Pulls the ridiculous tee out and shakes it out real good. 

Yeah, he put the thing into an empty detergent container. Because god forbid Atsumu comes within range of dirty laundry, he might actually _die_ and where would Osamu be then, besides absolutely elated about finally having things that are completely _his_ and not _theirs._

He's not gonna wear the damn thing. _He's not._

But he does push Natto off from Atsumu's pillow, vicious retaliation-scratches on his arms be damned, and pulls the tee over it like the most glorified pillow case. 

(It's soft against his cheek and smells like Atsumu thanks to the pillow, and Osamu wouldn't be caught dead admitting this, but it's the best damn sleep he got since that first night spent apart from Atsumu.)

* * *

He starts wearing it after the fifth time. 

His life's one giant joke and he's the punch line.

* * *

Osamu walks through the door and immediately walks back out. 

It actually takes Atsumu five minutes to get off the couch, open their front door to find Osamu bashing his head against the hallway wall, and smugly singsong, "Sooooooooo." 

Osamu's not sure whether he's refering to the bag of surprise takeout ramen from his favorite place Osamu's holding or The T-Shirt Atsumu got draped over his shoulder. 

It better be the former because memorizing Atsumu's favorite special-snowflake-order was a hassle and it would be a pain to un-memorize it.

"Not a word," Osamu warns as he's forced to pass by Atsumu on the way into the apartment, and the brat obviously sees it as permission to start dramatically weeping into the t-shirt.

Osamu throws the empty takeout bag at him.

"So _my darlin' wife_ misses me when I'm gone, huh."

Osamu does the sensible thing and ignores Atsumu's failed attempt at being witty (it's not that hard, Atsumu's been trying and failing for over two decades) and instead asks, "How did ya even find it."

"Ya left me unsupervised."

"I was gone for four hours."

"Yeah, _exactly._ "

Osamu snorts. "Invasive cockroach."

Atsumu walks up to him and drapes the tee over Osamu's shoulders like it's a cape. "And ya chose to fuck this invasive cockroach! Congratulations, ya have shit taste."

 _I know,_ Osamu thinks, entirely too smitten. 

"I'm gonna flush it."

"Wha?"

"'M gonna flush it. Down. The toilet." And to prove the gravity of his threat he whirls around and immediately makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

Atsumu's on him in seconds, disbelieving laughter spilling from his mouth and into Osamu's ears like diamond burrs, and he tries to wheeze out, "Nono don't," and, "Ohmygod," and, "Don't be like that, fuck, ya little _girl_ ," arms and legs wrapped around Osamu to deter him from taking a single step farther, fingers trying to claw the balled up shirt out of Osamu's iron grip. 

(Osamu doesn't tell him his bodily prevention isn't the only reason he didn't throw the thing out. After all, the t-shirt's out of production, and maybe he got a teeny-tiny bit attached. 

And attached _is_ kind of the story of his life.)

**Author's Note:**

> You will soon come to realize that I actually have zero impulse control


End file.
